


What Happens When You Cut the Wrong Purse

by Wolfling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, canonical death mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What happened anyway? Why were they trying to kill you? What did you do?"</p><p>"Nothing!" Stiles protested, then amended, "I don't know. They said something about me stealing some kind of official delivery, but..."</p><p>"Did you?" Scott asked with raised eyebrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens When You Cut the Wrong Purse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sciles reverse bang. Inspired by [this artwork](http://arinjaeger.tumblr.com/post/92293616506/my-art-for-the-sciles-reverse-bang-it-was-a-ton) by Naomi (arenjager)
> 
>   
>  ___ _ _ _   
> 

Stiles was just congratulating himself on another successful lift when the outraged cry of "Stop thief!" rang through the marketplace. 

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the well dressed but travel stained man whose purse he'd just cut pointing at him with a trembling finger, his expression bordering on homicidal. Stiles did what any self respecting thief would do in these circumstances: he ran.

It wasn't the first time he'd been caught out -- though it was a much less frequent occurrence than it used to be -- so he didn't feel the need to panic. Experience had taught him that generally people would give up the chase if you could get out of their line of sight for a good handful of seconds. And Stiles knew the streets and alleys of the city like the back of his hand; he knew which route to take to disappear from practically anywhere, and this spot was not an exception.

Running full out, Stiles ducked down a narrow alleyway, turning down an even narrower walkway near the back that led to the courtyard of a busy inn. There was a rickety shed used for storing wood; Stiles hauled himself to the roof and jumped from there to the roof of the inn's stable. With a running start Stiles was able to jump from there to the next shop over, and the next, and the next. He reached the end of that row of buildings and shimmied down the drain pipe, finding himself in another narrow back alley. Then he paused, taking a few deep breaths and brushing off his clothes to make sure he didn't look like someone who had just been running from someone chasing him. Once he was satisfied that he looked as put together as he ever did (which granted, wasn't very) he casually sauntered back out onto one of the main streets, losing himself in the passing crowd.

It was as simple as that.

Or maybe not so simple. He was stopped at a food stall a good twenty minutes later, haggling over the price of some meat pies -- it was the full moon so Scott's appetite was twice as big as normal, though their larder was not -- when he heard another shout go up. 

This time he didn't immediately bolt because was far enough from the scene of the crime both in distance and time that he was certain that this ruckus couldn't be for him. He was far from the only thief who worked the marketplace after all. Professional curiosity did have him craning his neck to see who was the target this time.

That was when someone grabbed him from behind, wrapped an arm around his throat and dragged him back into one of those narrow alleyways that had been his salvation earlier.

Shock held Stiles immobile for the crucial few seconds it took his captor to drag him out of sight, but he quickly recovered and went wild, kicking and flailing and generally making himself as difficult to hold onto as possible. 

He felt the grip holding him start to loosen and let his legs go limp, intending to drop down and roll free. But at the last second whoever had a hold of him grabbed the back of his hood, and used that to gain enough leverage to shove Stiles face first into the nearest wall. 

Pain exploded like sparks behind Stiles' eyes and things got a little fuzzy.

When his senses cleared, he found himself in a heap on the ground staring at several pairs of the red leather boots with silver edging that all the city guardsmen were issued. Great. He'd been pinched. 

He raised his hands and looked up, fully intending to try and talk his way out of it -- it wouldn't be the first time for that either, although Stiles considered it a failure whenever it got that far -- but the words died on his lips before he could speak when he got a good look at his captors beyond their boots.

"You're not the city guard," he blurted instead.

Because while their boots may have been guardsmen issue, the rest of their outfits most decidedly were not. Their clothing was obviously expensive, both in cut and material, and in muted dark colors that would allow them to easily blend into shadowy places -- like the alley they currently were standing in.

Not to mention the myriad of weapons they were carrying, that would have been hidden under their cloaks if they hadn't had them thrown back over the shoulders for, Stiles suspected, easier access to the many sharp metal bits that gleamed silver in the reflected moonlight.

The one standing directly in front of him had a vicious looking scar curving from the corner of his left eye all the way down to his chin. It pulled his smile crooked making him look even more sinister when he said, "Well would you look at that. The thieving little street rat is observant."

"Thieving little street rat?" Stiles echoed, letting some of his very real fear into his voice. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I am a lawful citizen who was just trying to buy some dinner when I was accost- Eeep!" His sentence cut off in a very undignified squeak when scar face reached down and hauled him up and shoved him back into the wall, holding him there with his feet dangling several inches about the ground.

"Don't even try it, street rat," the man growled into Stiles' face, close enough that Stiles could feel his breath, warm and moist and stinking of garlic against his skin. Only his fear kept him from wrinkling his nose in disgust. "We're observant too. We saw you. You've got guts, I'll give you that, stealing an official delivery from an official courier."

 _I stole a what from the who now?_ Stiles thought, even as he protested, "I didn't steal anything from anyone. I told you I have no idea-"

"-what I'm talking about. So you said." He shoved Stiles back against the wall again and Stiles tried to swallow his involuntary grunt of pain. "I don't believe you. Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Stiles shot back and the shrill panic in his voice was unfortunately not an act at all. 

The guy standing to the left of the guy holding Stiles against the wall groaned. "For god's sake, Clay we're going to be here all night. He hasn't had a chance to ditch it yet. Just kill him and we can search his body. I've got places to be."

Clay rolled his eyes. "You just want to get back to your beer," he grumbled, but he sighed and let go of Stiles with one hand to reach for the dagger on his belt.

Stiles went into survival mode at that. Acting solely on instinct, he turned his head enough to sink his teeth into the hand that was holding him up against the wall. When the grip loosened just slightly, he kicked out, aiming right for the guy's family jewels. That made Clay double over with a pained grunting sound and release his grip on Stiles entirely.

Stiles didn't try to land on his feet. Instead he dropped all the way to the ground and used his forward momentum to roll out of arm's reach of his captors. Only then did he scramble back up, taking off at a full run as soon as he regained his footing.

They were after him immediately, but Stiles was nothing if not fleet of foot when his life was at stake so he was doing an okay job of staying well ahead of them as he sprinted down alleyways and streets, dodging people and horses as he went.

For now at least.

But they were staying close enough and seemed motivated enough -- _they had been going to kill him! Over one little purse of coins!_ \-- that Stiles had no confidence in his ability to just lose them in the streets. No, he was going to have to try a different tactic if he wanted to get out of this alive.

He needed back-up.

He needed Scott.

Consequently, Stiles did the last thing he would usually do when being chased -- he ran away from the busy complicated marketplace and center of the city to the quieter, more deserted edges. The places where if they caught up to him, they wouldn't even need to pull him into an alley to kill him. He was just going to have to make sure he ran fast enough that they didn't catch him until he wanted them to.

But no one could run full out forever, even if it was a matter of life and death, not even Stiles. He was starting to flag by the time he reached the first few trees of the woods on the outskirts of the city, could sense the distance between him and his pursuers shrinking even without looking, could feel it like an itch between his shoulder blades. 

He shouldn't need to run much further though, not unless Scott had got distracted chasing rabbits again and had wandered further than normal. In which case, Stiles was a dead man, so there better not have been any rabbit chasing tonight.

A twig snapped closer behind him than he was comfortable with and Stiles turned his head to check how much of a lead he still had -- and promptly tripped over a tree root and fell flat on his face.

They were on him in an instant. "You little piece of shit!" Clay snarled at him as he once again hauled Stiles up by the front of his hood. "You're gonna pay for what you did!" He was so mad, spittle was flicking from his lips with every word. Some little part of Stiles' brain noted that this was what the term 'spitting mad' must have been coined from as he blinked into Clay's rage filled face.

"I was gonna do you fast. No muss, no fuss, no pain," Clay was continuing to snarl at him. "But now I'm gonna do you slow. By the time I'm done you're gonna be begging me to kill.... Why the hell are you smiling?"

Because Stiles was smiling, wide and real and satisfied. Before he could say anything though, a loud ominous growling filled the air.

Stiles had the pleasure of seeing Clay's eyes widen and his face pale at the sound. He watched as, as one, Clay and his companions all slowly looked behind them.

At which point they all saw what it was that had Stiles grinning like a mad man. 

An impossibly large black wolf stood there, fur all a bristle as he stared at them with glowing red eyes and a snarl on his muzzle. As they all watched, he curled his lip up, baring very sharp looking teeth and let out another growl, loud enough that Stiles could feel the vibrations of it rumbling in his chest.

The wolf tensed as if about to leap and Clay broke, dropping Stiles and scrambling to join his companions a few feet away. Stiles, not having braced himself for said droppage, landed on the ground on his ass with a soft 'ooph', just as the wolf leapt straight for him...

And landed on the ground in front of Stiles, putting his wolfy bulk between him and his attackers in an unmistakably protective pose.

One thing Stiles had to give to Scott -- his friend knew how to make an entrance.

"Yeah, he's with me," Stiles said conversationally, shifting to a slightly more dignified kneeling position instead of sprawled flat on his ass. He was careful to keep Scott's bulk between himself and his attackers though. To prove his point, he reached out and ran his fingers through the thick fur on the back of Scott's neck.

He could see Clay and the others' eyes all focused on how he was touching the wolf and not getting eaten. 

"See, he considers me part of his pack," Stiles continued. "Which means I can usually get him to do what I ask." He felt, more than heard Scott's soft huff of breath at that and he knew he was probably going to pay for that comment later. 

"But it also means that he's protective of me," he went on. " _Very_ protective. He doesn't like it when I get roughed up." He paused and ran a finger over his lip where it was a little bloody from being shoved into the wall earlier. "And he absolutely _hates_ it when people try to kill me. Gets him all riled up. And when he gets riled up it isn't pretty." Stiles faked a shudder. "The screaming and the growling... the ripping apart.... It's pretty horrible, all the blood and gore, but the worst is listening to him crunch on the bones. Really, that shit haunts _my_ dreams, it's just bad.

"I don't really want to watch and listen to him do that again, so I'm going to help you guys out," Stiles continued. "I'm going to tell you how to prove to him you're not a threat to me and maybe, just maybe, he'll let you out of these woods alive."

Scott, knowing his cue, gave another loud rumble of a growl which caused Clay and company all to jump.

Clay's tongue darted out to lick nervously at his lips. "H- how do we do that?" he asked, manner completely different from the cocky confident bully who had been interrogating Stiles earlier. This was a man who was completely cowed. Not that Stiles blamed him; Scott's wolf form would be enough to intimidate almost anyone.

"Smart decision, Clay," Stiles praised him. "First thing you need to do is lose all the weapons. He knows what they are, knows you can use them to hurt me." He grinned. "Notice I said me and not him. He's not your run of the mill typical wolf. Nothing you're carrying will do anything to him except make him mad. Madder."

Scott gave a wolfish grin at that, which if you didn't know what it was, was just a pretty terrifying display of many many sharp teeth. Stiles approved.

There was a moment of hesitation and then a rather alarming number of weapons started hitting the ground, far more than a guardsman or a random bodyguard or thug would have on them. Just who the hell were these guys?

His next move was based solely on the fact that one of them might have something on them that might answer the question. Really. There was no other alternative motive that Stiles could possibly have for his next move being to grin at them and say, "Good. And now the clothes."

"What?" The guy who had suggested killing Stiles because he had better things to do with his time gaped at him.

"Your clothes," Stiles repeated. "You could still have some weapons hidden and my friend here can't very well search you for them." He grinned again. "Or, he could, but you wouldn't like it much. And he's not going to let me close enough to you to do it." Not that Stiles had any desire to get within hitting range again. "So if you want to prove you're not a threat so he'll let you go, you're going to have to show him you're really not armed, which means lose the clothes." He paused. "Or keep the clothes and lose a limb. Or a head. Your choice."

They all hesitated so Scott let loose another well timed growl which had them all jumping to comply.

Soon enough all their clothing was on the ground in a pile beside the pile of weapons and Clay and his compatriots were standing there naked and shivering.

"Now was that so hard?" Stiles asked because he really didn't know when to quit for his own good. Still, he was smart enough to know not to push it too far so he added, "This is the part where you run away."

The smallest of the guys, who had up until now remained silent, eyed Scott dubiously. "If we run, he'll chase us."

"He might," Stiles agreed. "You'll just have to hope that his protect the pack instincts are stronger than his run prey to ground instincts. Really, it's your best chance. Because if you stay here, there's going to be pouncing and rending and tearing and yeah, I really don't want to think about it, it's too horrible. So, like I said, run."

Scott slowly started stalking forward, showing his teeth as he kept up a low rumbling growl and that was all that it took. The one who had declared he'd better things to do with his time broke first, turning and fleeing back along the trail towards the city. Clay was next, and then the others all fled together. 

They disappeared beyond Stiles' merely human senses pretty quickly, but he kept his eyes on Scott, knowing that he would be able to keep track of them for far longer. When the tension finally went out of Scott's form, Stiles knew they were gone for real and he let himself relax as well.

"God, that was too close! Thanks budd-EEEK!" Stiles last word got cut off in a less than heroic squeak as Scott pounced on him, bowling him back to the ground. He then found himself trapped under several hundred pounds of worried wolf trying to check Stiles out for injuries.

"I'm okay, really," Stiles said, holding still for Scott's examination. "Just a few bruises and cuts, nothing- EW!" He was cut off again as Scott licked up the side of his face with his long wolf tongue.

"Ugh!" Stiles declared, simultaneously trying to push Scott off him and wipe wolf drool off his face and having very little success with either. "No licking me while you're a wolf! We've talked about this, remember?"

Scott responded by grinning and holding Stiles down while he gave Stiles' face a thorough tongue bath, completely ignoring Stiles' noises of protest. 

Stiles was feeling more than a little damp by the time Scott finally let him up. Scott made the small huffing breaths that Stiles knew was him laughing in his wolf form. 

"You're not funny," Stiles told him, walking over and grabbing one of the discarded shirts on the ground to try and wipe up the wolf drool with. He just got more huffing breaths and Scott wagging his tail at him. 

Stiles threw the shirt at him, but Scott caught it out of midair in his jaws, which just made Stiles roll his eyes. Wolves.

"Do you think you can change back?" Stiles asked. Normally, that wasn't even a question, Scott had excellent control, but it was a full moon tonight and that always made Scott lean more towards his wolfy side. That was, of course, why he was running out here in the woods in the first place.

He watched as Scott closed his eyes and concentrated. The change, when it happened, was a little slower than it would have been on a non-full moon night, but it went smoothly nonetheless. In less than a minute Scott was kneeling in front of Stiles, human once again.

Also, just as naked as the goons he'd scared off had been when they had left. "I left my clothes back at the hollow stump," Scott said, accepting the hand Stiles held out to him to help him up.

"Good thing I made those assholes leave theirs then," Stiles said, gesturing at the pile.

Scott rolled his eyes, but went over and started sifting through it, looking for items that would fit him. "What happened anyway? Why were they trying to kill you? What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Stiles protested, then amended, "I don't know. They said something about me stealing some kind of official delivery, but..."

"Did you?" Scott asked with raised eyebrows.

Stiles widened his eyes to look his most innocent. "Scott, you know me! I mean I cut some purses, I maybe burgle a house or two, yeah, but I don't go after anything big and fancy like that. They're more trouble than they're worth -- too dangerous and too hard to unload. It's much easier -- and safer, not to mention profitable -- to just go after cold hard silver. I swear to you, that's all I was doing!"

Scott frowned as he finished getting dressed. "Do you still have what you nicked tonight?"

"Course I do." Stiles reached into his tunic and pulled out the pouches he'd acquired. "See?" he said as he opened one after another and poured their contents onto one of the cloaks on the ground. It was a fair sized pile of coins if Stiles did say so himself. "Nothing but silver."

Then he opened up the last pouch and shook it out. An intricately carved metal finger landed on top of the pile of coins.

Stiles stared at it in silence until Scott clapped him on the shoulder and said wryly, "Well, you weren't wrong." When Stiles turned to look at him questioningly, he said, "It _is_ silver."

******

"I don't know Scotty. What do you think?" Stiles held the wanted poster up besides his face. "I don't think they've really captured my essence, do you?"

"They captured it well enough that I was able to recognize you," Scott pointed out. He wished Stiles would take this seriously. Those posters were up all over the market place and if anyone recognized Stiles in them, it could be bad.

Really bad.

"Yeah, but you know me better than anyone else," Stiles replied, studying the poster again with something that was far too close to delight for Scott's peace of mind. "Also, you knew it was me the second you read the bit about having a trained dire wolf."

Scott had to give that much to Stiles. "The wolf bit might have clinched it, yeah," he admitted. 

"So yeah, you recognize me and I recognize me -- sorta, really they've totally missed my moles and my nose turns up more than it does in that picture -- but that's because we were there," Stiles said, laying the poster down on their table. "And after everything that happened, we were both sort of expecting something like this."

"That's true," Scott said, unwinding a little bit from the state of alarm he'd been in ever since he'd spotted the first poster while out shopping.

"Besides," Stiles continued, "that sketch might bear a passing resemblance to me if you squint hard enough, but their description of you is _way_ off. I mean, I love you buddy, and your wolf form is badass and awesome, but you are not anywhere near the size of a horse." He paused. "If you were, I'd totally be riding you."

"No you wouldn't," Scott said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh wouldn't I?" Stiles shot back, waggling his eyebrows at him suggestively. "And here I thought you liked it when I ride you."

Scott could feel his face getting hot in embarrassment but he did his best to ignore it. "Do you have to turn everything into an innuendo?" he complained.

"Have to? No. Like to? Oh hell, yeah." He crossed the room to wear Scott was standing and slid his arms around Scott's waist, even though it was awkward due to Scott's own arms still being crossed over his chest. "And you usually like it too."

"Sometimes," Scott admitted, unbending enough to drop his arms and wrap them around Stiles' waist in return. "When I'm not trying to have a serious conversation with you."

"All my innuendos _are_ serious, Scotty, at least when they're about you," Stiles shot back, grinning at him.

Scott rolled his eyes, giving in enough to drop a quick kiss on Stiles' lips. "You're really horrible sometimes."

Stiles just grinned wider at him. "I really am," he agreed readily, returning the kiss with another. "But you love me anyway." 

The way Stiles said that, with complete confidence and assurance that it was as much of a fact as the sky being blue or rain being wet always did something to Scott. It had just been the two of them for a long time now and that had made what had already been a close friendship into something deeper and more profound. Stiles was everything to him -- best friend, brother, lover. Soulmate. Scott could honestly not picture a life now without Stiles in it.

"Yeah," he admitted with a sigh, moving to rest his forehead against Stiles'. "Which is why I take threats to you seriously. I don't want to lose you."

All the teasing fell away from Stiles at that. "I know," he said softly. "I just..." He sort of half flailed with his hands, without moving away from Scott and the contact they were in. "I have to take it not seriously if I don't want to freak out. But that doesn't mean I'm not actually taking it seriously. Y'know?"

That... was true. The more scared Stiles was of something, the faster he talked, the more he flailed, the more bad jokes he cracked. He'd always been like that. Even before... Before. But no matter how much flailing or bad jokes there were, that didn't mean that Stiles' brain wasn't worrying at the problem until he'd come up with a solution.

"Yeah," Scott responded in an equally soft voice, his mouth turning up into a fond half smile. "I know."

They stayed like that for several long moments, just breathing each other's air and being silent and still together.

Finally Stiles sighed and pulled back. "So while I still don't think those posters look enough at me that we really have to worry about me being recognized from them, I do agree that the fact that there are posters in the first place is something we need to be worried about."

Scott let out his breath in a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't going to have to convince Stiles that there was a problem. "Yeah. You really pissed someone off, dude."

Stiles made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. "I think it's less me pissing them off and more I pinched something they didn't want to lose. And they want it back."

Scott nodded. "The silver finger."

"Yeah. That." Stiles glanced across the room to the loose stone in the wall that they'd hollowed out and used as a place to store their meager valuables, and where the silver finger was currently resting. "But why? I mean yeah, it's a lot of silver, but-"

"Not so much that the silver content alone is worth all this bother," Scott finished for him.

"Exactly."

"Could it just be some kind of... of artwork?" Scott asked. "Like a priceless sculpture or something?"

"It _could_ , but then someone somewhere should be putting up a ruckus about it -- the finger specifically, in case I get rid of it," Stiles said frowning. "Don't you think?"

Scott nodded; that made sense. "It's like they want it back but they don't want anyone to know they want it back."

"Or maybe to know that it's missing in the first place," Stiles added with a shrug. "Either way, I just have this feeling that there's more to the thing than something that looks pretty."

That made sense too, even though Scott didn't like it. "So it's probably magic," he said with a grimace.

"Yeah, probably," Stiles agreed. "And really, you've got to get over this aversion you have to magic, Scotty. You're a freaking werewolf after all."

"I think that's _why_ I don't like it," Scott pointed out, wrinkling his nose. "It smells funny."

Stiles stared at him. "It smells funny," he repeated.

"Yeah." He searched for the words to explain it. "I... can't describe it exactly. It's not like it has a particular physical scent, really. It's more like a feeling caused by a scent. If something's magic, I can smell it and it makes me feel... anxious. Like something's fundamentally wrong with my surroundings." He looked at Stiles helplessly. "Does that make any sense?"

"Things that are natural smell right; magic changes the natural order of things, so it makes things smell wrong," Stiles said, and yeah that was it exactly. Stiles was always better at putting things into words, even werewolf things where you would think Scott would be more of an expert.

Before he could say anything in reply, Stiles continued. "So if you picked up something that was used for magic or had magic cast on it or the like, would you be able to tell?"

Scott thought about it before he answered. "I _think_ so," he said. "Probably. I can't be entirely certain without actually-" _trying_ he was going to finish, but broke off as Stiles practically leaped across the room and pulled out the loose stone, revealing the valuables in their hiding place.

 _Oh,_ Scott thought as he watched. 

"You want me to see if I can sniff out any magic on the finger," he said, as Stiles pulled out the pouch said silver finger was wrapped in.

Stiles grinned up at him from where he was kneeling by the open space in the wall. "Got it in one." He pushed himself to his feet and crossed back over to where Scott was still standing. "If you can't, no harm done, we won't be any worse off and we can start brainstorming other ideas to try and figure out more about it, but if you can, then we will know one more thing about the finger and can plan accordingly." He held the pouch up to Scott's eye level. "Ready?"

Scott grimaced because he really didn't want to touch the thing (or get a closer whiff of it) but what Stiles was saying was sound. With a sigh, he held out his hand and Stiles grinned then upended the pouch, dropping the silver finger onto Scott's palm.

It was cool in his hand, but warmed quickly -- faster than he thought it should naturally. And it got warmer than he thought it should as well, feeling more like it had been left in the sun on a hot day than spent a few seconds in a werewolf's hand. The phrase that drifted through Scott's mind to describe it was 'blood warm' and that was just _wrong_.

As for scent, at first sniff it smelled just like silver and nothing else, but as it warmed that changed as well. There was something subtle making itself known along with the silver smell, something that made Scott think of a prey animal's musk combined with the ozone in the air just before a lightning strike. 

It brought out all of Scott's protective instincts and as disturbing as the thing's presence was, he found himself gripping it as tight as he could. Because if it was held caught in his fist, it couldn't reach out and touch Stiles. Or, more likely, given Stiles' curiosity, Stiles couldn't reach out and touch _it_.

Stiles had been watching him closely and when Scott's hand tightened into a fist, he nodded. "Magic then."

"Yeah," Scott agreed, looking down at his closed hand. And oh god, was the thing starting to _vibrate_? He surppressed a shudder. "Or something. It's definitely not natural." To put it mildly. He didn't know exactly what was happening with it, but he didn't like it one bit.

"Scott?" Stiles asked after a moment.

"Yeah?" His gaze was still fixed on his closed fist.

"Just a wild suggestion here, but do you maybe, I don't know, want to put the not natural silver finger down?"

Scott jerked his gaze from his fist up to Stiles' face who was biting his lip as he watched him worriedly. Which he had every right to do, considering putting it down hadn't even occurred to Scott until Stiles had said so. That was not natural. That was _so_ not natural. "Right," he said, forcing his grip to open and drop the finger on the table.

Instantly he felt a hundred per cent better and took several large steps back from where it had fallen. Stiles was at his side immediately, gripping his arm in a duo effort to ground him and hold him up.

"I'm okay," Scott said before Stiles could ask, reaching out to cover Stiles' hand with his own . 

Stiles didn't seem to relax at the reassurance at all, instead manoeuvring himself so he was standing between Scott and the finger, staring into Scott's face intently. "You were starting to freak me out there."

"I know," Scott replied. "I'm sorry." His arms naturally came up and wrapped around Stiles, pulling him closer and he turned them a little, until he was the one between _Stiles_ and the finger. "It was getting weird for a moment there but I'm okay now."

"Except you're going all super protective alpha on me here," Stiles pointed out, though he made no move to pull away or change their positions.

Scott looked at their relative positions. "Yeah, I guess I am," he said. "Maybe it's still a little weird."

"Maybe," Stiles said dryly. He took a step back -- away from the finger, thankfully -- and shifted so he was able to grab Scott's hands and pull him along with him over to their bed in the corner. Once there, he shoved Scott down and plopped down beside him, sitting as close as he could without actually being in Scott's lap.

The added distance from the finger along with the proximity of Stiles helped Scott relax some of the tension that had flooded into his body the second he'd touched the thing. Turning and rubbing his face against the side of Stiles' head, not so subtly scenting him relaxed him even more, as did the petting that Stiles was doing, running his long fingers lightly up and down Scott's arms. After a few minutes of that Scott let out a long sigh of relief.

"Better?" Stiles asked, though Scott was sure the answer was obvious.

He nodded and replied anyway. "Better. Thanks."

"It's what I'm here for." Stiles grinned at him and leaned in for a kiss. 

Scott kissed him back and let out another sigh, as he leaned more of his weight onto his best friend.

Stiles let them sit like that for a few minutes more before he finally asked, "Can you talk about it now?"

After a moment's hesitation, Scott nodded. "I think so."

Stiles didn't say anything else, just stayed silent waiting for Scott to find the words. "You're right, there's something magic about it," he finally started. "But there's more to it than that. It... it felt almost alive. More than that if felt like a _threat_ , but it also felt like prey. I don't...." He trailed off in frustration.

"Hey, it's okay," Stiles reassured him immediately. "That's good. That's a lot more than we knew before. Even if it's completely terrifying."

Scott huffed a soft laugh at that. "Yeah. It kind of was. It made my skin crawl."

"So why were you holding onto it so tightly?" Stiles asked. "I think, given the givens, the more logical course would've been to throw it across the room."

"I couldn't," Scott replied without thinking about it. "It was a threat. I... I had to contain it. I didn't want it coming after you."

Stiles didn't respond to that right away, instead seeming to turn it over in his mind and look at it for a while first. "Do you think it was going to?" he finally asked. "Come after me?"

"I don't know," Scott admitted, searching the memory of the emotions and instincts that the thing had made him feel. "I just knew I didn't want to take the chance."

"Fair enough," Stiles said. He paused for a bit before saying, "So are you going to totally lose your shit if I get up and go to put the finger back where we were hiding it?"

Scott instantly tensed up. "Don't touch it!" he said, a lot more growl in his voice than there should've been when he was in his human form. 

Stiles held up both hands. "Dude, I'm not stupid. I'll scoop it up in the pouch without actually letting it touch my skin. And I've handled it in the pouch before so that should be safe, right?"

Scott didn't answer, staring daggers across the room at the finger while trying to keep himself from coming over all claws and fangs. 

"Scott." Stiles moved to block his view. "We can't just leave it sitting on the table out in the open like that," he pointed out. "Especially if it's as dangerous as your instincts are telling you."

"I know," Scott replied with a sigh. "I just...." He met and held Stiles' gaze. "Be careful okay?"

Stiles smirked at him. "I'm always careful." But the smirk faded almost immediately and he leaned in for another brief kiss. "Seriously, I'll be as careful as I can be."

Scott then watched, digging his fingers into the mattress beneath him -- quite literally as he wasn't entirely able to keep his claws from coming out -- as Stiles crossed the room over to the table.

Stiles leaned over and moved this way and that, examining the finger as close as he could without touching it. "Still doesn't look like much," he commented. 

"Stiles..." Scott chastised, voice again more growl than human and he was about two seconds away from jumping up and grabbing Stiles to pull him away from the finger before something bad could happen. 

"Right," Stiles replied, waving a hand in Scott's direction in acknowledgement. "Get on with it before you wolf out completely. Got it."

He reached out and grabbed the pouch from where he had dropped it when he'd given the finger to Scott to do the sniffing magic test. As Scott held his breath, Stiles skillfully opened the pouch up and snagged the finger with it, then turning it right side up so it fell into the pouch's depths. Stiles immediately pulled the strings on the pouch tight and shoved it back into the little hollow in the wall. He replaced the hollow stone and only then did he turn and face Scott again, a big reassuring grin on his face. 

"See? No muss, no fuss, all put away without me tou- Oof!"

Scott was unable to hold himself back any longer and all but tackle hugged Stiles to the floor. 

"You really got to stop doing that, man," Stiles complained, but he was wrapping his arms around Scott anyway and tilting his head back let Scott breathe against his neck.

Scott just made a contented sound as he let Stiles' scent surround him and calm him down.

Stiles huffed out a sigh. "Fine. Cuddle time, I get it." Although he sounded put upon, he had lifted one hand to thread his fingers through Scott's hair, a gesture that would've been petting if Scott had been in his wolf form. 

They still had to figure out what to do about the silver finger and Stiles being wanted and they should probably be focusing on that, but every now and then Scott just needed this -- to be close with Stiles and remind himself that whatever else they'd lost they still had each other.

*******

"So I've been thinking," Stiles said once he'd caught his breath.

"Seriously?" Scott raised his face from where he'd had it buried in the crook of Stiles' neck again. "You had enough brain power left over while we were having sex to _think_? I'm insulted."

He looked so offended that Stiles had to fight back a grin. "Nothing turns my brain off, Scotty, you know that. Not even mind blowingly awesome sex. And it was mind blowingly awesome, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. You get top marks, I was very satisfied. And uh, distracted."

"You were 'thinking'," Scott pointed out.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Dude, I'm always thinking! If it helps, I was only thinking with, like, ten per cent of my brain not focused on what I was doing instead of the usual thirty to forty per cent when I'm doing anything other than getting distracted by mind blowingly awesome sex with you. I did mention it was mind blowingly awesome sex, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," Scott said, looking slightly mollified. "Mind blowingly awesome, huh?"

"The awesomest. Sex with you is so much better than sex with anyone else it doesn't even compare."

Scott poked him in the ribs, making Stiles twitch. "Dude, you've only ever had sex with me!"

"Yes and it was so great that you've completely ruined me for anyone else ever. You're the be all and end all for me, Scotty. You know that." The words were said in the same joking tone as the rest of the conversation had been, but that didn't make them any less true. Stiles knew that he and Scott were it for each other, had known that for years.

Scott stared at him a moment then gave in, letting his head rest against Stiles' shoulder as he relaxed once more. "Same here," he said with a sigh.

That deserved at least a few moments of basking and far be it for Stiles to ruin that so he did his best to remain silent and still for as long as he could stand. Which, because it was him was a little less than ten minutes.

"So, like I said, I've been thinking," he said when he couldn't stand it any longer.

This time Scott just laughed and shook his head fondly. "So we've established. What have you been thinking about?"

"What our next move should be regarding my new found popularity and the Silver Finger of Creepiness." As far as Stiles was concerned that was the thing's name until they found out otherwise. It was either that or _Worst Score Ever_ but _Silver Finger of Creepiness_ was much more descriptive.

Scott's nose crinkled up as he grimaced and Stiles made note to tell him later just how cute he was when he did that. "I can guess. Research, right?"

"Well yeah, but I think we're going to have to come at it sideways," Stiles said. "Because if I was them and wanted the Silver Finger of Creepiness back but couldn't actually talk about it, one thing I would do is keep an ear to the ground and an eye out for anyone asking questions or looking for information about said Silver Finger of Creepiness."

"I didn't even think of that," Scott said, frowning in realization.

"Not your fault," Stiles said, waving a hand magnanimously. "I was distracting you with truly awesome sex. Not everyone can multitask through something like that like I can." 

That earned him an eye roll. "Some of us are just more focused than others," Scott said. "Case in point -- you're getting off topic here. You said we'd have to come at the problem sideways?"

"Yep. We can't try and go after information on the Finger without making ourselves easy pickings. Similarly, just making a break for it would probably do the same thing, plus that has the added problem of if we did manage to get away, we'd be in a place and situation where we wouldn't have the advantages of knowing our territory like we do here. But those are most likely to get us in trouble because those are the most obvious choices we could make. So what is the least obvious thing we could do?" He looked at Scott expectantly.

Since he was watching, he saw the exact second that Scott figured it out. "No," Scott told him.

"Scott, it's the only way we can get some information about what's going on without, y'know, walking into what probably would be a trap."

"This isn't exactly a better alternative!" Scott protested. 

"Sure it is!" Stiles argued, then held up a hand so he could count off the ways it was on his fingers as he talked. "One, they'd never expect us -- a couple of street rats, or, okay a street rat and his pet dire wolf -- to actually try and track them down-"

"That's because it's insane," Scott interjected.

"Hush, I'm trying to explain my train of thought to you here. Stop trying to derail it." He held up a second finger. "Two, you had ample time to catch their scents when you scared them off in the woods that night and you are an _awesome_ tracker. So finding them again should be as simple as you wandering around places they might be until you pick up their scent-"

"That's not as easy as you make it sound," Scott interrupted again. "Do you have any idea how _bad_ this city smells?"

"Not to the extent you do, I admit, but it's not exactly spring flowers to a human's nose either. But this is just one of the times you're going to have to take one for the team, Scott. I'll make it up to you. In blow jobs. Three," Stiles continued, holding up another finger. He was not going to be deterred. "Once you do track them down, you can lurk close enough to watch them relatively safely because guess what? _They have no idea what you look like when you're not all furry and growly._."

Scott opened his mouth to say something, then paused and thought about that. "You... have a point," he admitted.

"Of course I do! I always have a point. One day you will realize this and stop arguing with me every time I come up with a plan." Really, it would make their lives so much simpler if Stiles didn't have to talk Scott into every brilliant idea he came up with.

"The last time you came up with a 'plan' it ended up with us covered head to toe in the innards of fifty meat pies," Scott pointed out.

Stiles winced slightly. "Okay, granted the exit strategy obviously needed some work, but before that happened we did manage to pinch enough food to keep us fed for a fortnight," he reminded Scott in return.

"We smelled like gravy for a month, Stiles. A _month_."

"Hey, as things we could have smelled like, that wasn't so bad," Stiles said. "I mean, it's not like we were tossed in a dung pile or anythi-" He stopped talking when Scott put a hand over his mouth.

"Don't," Scott said. "You have a horrible habit of saying stuff like that and then it happens. Let's not tempt fate this time, okay?"

Which... was a fair point. Scott still had his hand over Stiles' mouth, so he just nodded.

Scott cautiously took his hand away. "So... you want me to see if I can track these guys down by scent and see where they go and then....?"

"I'm still a little fuzzy on what we do then," Stiles admitted. "It will depend on where they are and what they're doing. I don't want to plan too much in advance of actual information. That's the kind of thing that can get us into trouble."

Scott cocked an eyebrow at him. "As opposed to all the other ways we get into trouble?"

"Shut up," Stiles told him without heat. 

"I could list them in alphabetical order or by frequency of occurrence," Scott offered helpfully, his expression all earnest puppy eyes that Stiles would have bought as genuine if he didn't know Scott well enough to see the hidden amusement underneath.

"You're not really grasping the concept of 'shut up' are you?" Stiles shot back. He shoved playfully at Scott in an effort to push him off the bed, but Scott just grabbed onto him tighter. Stiles sighed and gave up. "Ass."

"Takes one to know one," Scott said serenely. "Besides, you love my ass."

"I... can't really deny that," Stiles admitted. He paused for a moment then made a deliberate effort to get the conversation back on track. "So any thoughts about my plan?" he asked, giving Scott the opening to try and shoot him down so Stiles could work on talking him around to seeing it his way.

Scott surprised him though. "It's not the worst idea you've had. Actually as your plans go, this one is pretty good."

"You don't need to sound so shocked," Stiles complained. Then in the next breath he asked, "So you'll do it?"

Scott sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I'll do it." He eyed Stiles. "You really think I was going to say no?" He raised an eyebrow at him. "Since when don't I go along with your crazy ideas? "

"There's a first time for everything," Stiles said with a shrug. "And what are you talking about -- 'crazy ideas'? This isn't crazy, it's downright brilliant!"

******

"This is so, so crazy," Scott muttered under his breath as he made his way through the marketplace, casting about as unobtrusively as possible for the scents of the men who had chased Stiles into the woods the other night.

Like he had told Stiles, it wasn't as easy as it sounded. There were so many people living and moving in such a small space that that alone would have ended up creating a veritable cacophony for a sensitive nose. Throw in the added animals and, _god_ , the sewer system and Scott usually did his best to smell as little as possible while within the city's limits. And even then it wasn't unusual for him to get overwhelmed and need to bury his face in something with a familiar scent -- generally something of Stiles' -- to drown it out.

He was an accomplished tracker, he knew this about himself without a hint of false modesty. He could track a prey creature to its den with hardly more effort than raising his head and smelling the breeze. But generally the only times he'd ever attempted tracking something by scent was out in the woods, where there weren't so many scents overlapping, or at least not so many _bad_ scents. 

But he had let Stiles talk him into trying because crazy or not, Stiles' ideas usually ended up having more than a little merit to them. And he really couldn't think of an alternative beyond leaving the city and fleeing everything they knew which... no. Not unless there was no other way. 

He still had nightmares about nine years ago, the last time they'd been seriously running and knew Stiles did as well. They'd lost everything but each other back then and though this situation was different -- they would only be fleeing one group of men instead of an entire war that had ripped Stiles' and his world apart -- it was similar enough that Scott instinctively rejected the idea of running and knew Stiles did too. 

Of course that kind of thinking had led to him trying to filter through the myriad smells in the marketplace looking for one particular scent while pretending it wasn't giving him a headache. Just as Scott was about to give it up as a no go and call it a day, he caught it. A faint scent on the breeze.

If he hadn't been actively looking for it, he would've missed it. Heck, he almost missed it even when he was looking for it. If the wind hadn't shifted when it had...

But now that he had it, he wasn't about to lose it. He made his way through the streets, dodging and weaving around people following the scent trail he'd picked up. 

It got easier as he went on, the scent getting stronger as he left the marketplace and headed into streets that were a little more upscale, and closer to the Argent manor, the ruling house of the city. This was an area that Stiles and Scott both tended to avoid more often than not. There were fewer people here than in the bustle of the marketplace and areas directly surrounding it and those that were to be seen were either very obviously rich nobles or liveried servants. It made blending in, something they both had gotten very adept at, all the more difficult.

But this was where the trail led so for now Scott did his best not to stick out like a sore thumb. Telling himself to move like he had a destination in mind and had every right to be there, Scott held his head high as he continued tracing the scent trail. 

The scent he'd caught in the marketplace was now not only much stronger, but it was joined with other scents Scott had first smelled the night Stiles was attacked. He was obviously on the right track and getting closer.

All the scents seemed to converge on a tavern, the _Jaguar_ , fancier than the places Scott usually frequented with Stiles, but on the lower end of fancy for the area it was in. Its custom seemed to be comprised mainly of higher class servants and members of the city guard. 

Scott didn't actually risk going inside -- they would have to procure him slightly better clothes for him to do so unremarked -- but he did linger outside long enough for one of the men from the other night to exit the establishment.

The man was dressed, as he had partially been that night, in the uniform of the city guard. So it was either a long term disguise or they actually were part of the guard. Scott suspected if they were however, this whole thing with the silver finger was a side venture for them.

It was a risk, but Scott managed to follow the man, using a combination of sight and scent to keep track of him. He was probably just going back to the guard barracks, but if he didn't, where he did go could provide them with just the sort of information they were looking for.

The risk paid off when the man walked right by the barracks and continued down to the large house at the end of the street. He stopped and talked to the two men standing guard at the house's gate. Scott wasn't close enough to hear the whole thing, but the bits he caught told him that they were obviously friendly. After a brief conversation, the guards opened the gate and let the man inside.

And that, _that_ was enough to send Scott scrambling away as fast as he could without looking suspicious. 

Once he was out of the immediate area he took off at a run, still trying to keep to the shadows, but foregoing stealth for speed. He was spooked enough that he wanted to get back to Stiles more than he wanted to avoid drawing attention, at least now that he was back in more familiar territory. He didn't slow down or stop until he was practically at the building where the room that he and Stiles rented was located and only then because the stairs leading up to the door were rickety enough he didn't entirely trust them to hold his weight if he barrelled up them at full speed.

He burst through the door abruptly enough that Stiles, who had been lying on the bed with one of the precious books he'd managed to acquire, flailed in startlement so much that he hit himself in the face with the book and almost fell off the bed.

Rubbing his nose gingerly, Stiles glared at him. "You just scared me out of ten years, I swear, not to mention making me almost give myself a bloody nose. It's just lucky I wasn't looking through that bestiary I got last month -- that probably would've knocked me right out." Stiles paused, and Scott saw the second his expression registered with him. His eyes widened and the tilt of his mouth went from irritated to worried. "What is it?"

"I managed to track down one of the men from the other night." Scott paced the length of the room, unable to stay still. 

"That's good, isn't it?" Stiles asked tentatively.

Scott ignored the question. "I followed him. He didn't go to the guard barracks."

Stiles shrugged. "Not surprising really. Considering they wanted to kill me not arrest me." He eyed Scott for a moment watching him pace. "I'm guessing you managed to see where he did go and that I'm not going to like it."

A hoarse laugh burst out of Scott before he could bite it back. "You could say that. I tracked him to a certain house in the ruling quarter. He talked to the guards at the gate like he knew them and went inside like he belonged."

If one thing could be said about Stiles it was that he could put things together faster than anyone else Scott had ever met. He could tell by Stiles' expression that he had figured it out. "What house Scott?" he asked, now just as tense as Scott himself was.

Scott had to take a deep breath and let it out before he could even force himself to say it. "The Argent's. It looks like the person who is after us for the silver finger is Gerard Argent himself."

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles said with feeling and Scott thought that summed up their situation just perfectly.

******

"This is so bad," Scott said as he paced the confines of their small room. Stiles followed him with his eyes from where he was seated on the edge of the bed.

It was, it really was, so bad that Stiles would be up pacing and flailing himself if Scott hadn't beaten him to it. One of them needed to keep a level head so Stiles was doing his best to put off his freakout until later by sheer willpower.

"It's not good," he admitted, something of an understatement. Drawing the attention of the Argent was _never_ good. The man was as cruel as he was clever and those that drew his eye pretty much uniformly lived to regret it, though usually not for very long.

In the normal scheme of things, that wasn't something he and Scott needed to worry about – they were just a couple of street rats in a city full of them, completely beneath the Argent's notice. 

Now.

But Stiles remembered Before, just like he knew Scott did, when they'd had families and homes and so much more than just each other. He remembered how the Argent and his men had attacked and destroyed their small village all because Scott's mom had helped a wounded stranger who had stumbled in.

Stiles and Scott should've died there with the rest of them, would've if Stiles' mom hadn't managed to spirit them away while his dad distracted the attackers. The last memory Stiles had of his father was the man facing down twenty armed men with just a single sword. To this day he was grateful that his mom took them away before he had to see the inevitable outcome of that fight.

He didn't know why she had brought them here to the city, the heart of the Argent's power base. He had always suspected it was because she had some plan to strike back at him, to make him pay for Stiles' dad, and Scott's mom and everybody and everything else he'd destroyed, but he'd never know for certain. His mom had caught one of the summer fevers that periodically ran through the city like wild fire and died barely a year after they'd come here. He and Scott had been on their own ever since, managing to survive and eek out a living. 

The fact that they did it in the same city that was ruled by the man who had destroyed their families wasn't something Stiles really ever thought about any more. After all it wasn't like they were in a position to take the Argent on. And they were not so important that they would ever come to his notice.

Until now, it seemed. Maybe, just maybe, Stiles thought, there was some way they could turn this to their advantage. Maybe, just maybe, they finally had something that could give them leverage to do... something. 

He wasn't sure what yet, but there was potential here, potential that they had never had before.

Stiles was brought back to the present by Scott saying, "We need to leave."

"What?" Stiles was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open in shock. "No!"

Scott stopped pacing and turned to face him. "Stiles, we have to. This isn't some two bit noble with a weird collection that's after us. It's _the Argent_. You know as well as I do what he's capable of."

"Yeah, but only if he finds us," Stiles argued. "He doesn't know where we are, he doesn't know _who_ we are."

"They know what you look like!" Scott yelled and Stiles finally got why he was so agitated, why he wanted to run. He wasn't scared for himself. He was scared because the Argent was after Stiles and he _knew what Stiles looked like_.

"Hey," he said, making his tone as soothing as possible. "Scott. Nothing's going to happen to me." He got up and crossed the room so he could touch Scott, gripping his arms tightly, another way of reaffirming that he was right there, safe and sound.

Scott leaned his forehead against Stiles' and let his breath out in a sigh. "It could," he said in a voice barely audible, all the losses that haunted them both hiding behind the words.

"Nope," Stiles insisted. "Not when I have you." He let go of Scott's arms so he could wrap his own around him in a hug. "Tell me, do you really think our best move is to leave and run or are you just scared?"

Scott didn't answer right away and Stiles was quiet, waiting him out. He thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure. Finally Scott sighed again. "Scared," he admitted. He raised his gaze to lock with Stiles'. "But do you blame me?"

"Not even the tiniest bit," Stiles replied instantly. "I get it Scotty, I do. I'm scared too. The Argent... he's pretty much the personification of everything that's horrible and frightening and _wrong_. But I don't want us to make plans and decisions based on _fear_ , not like that." He paused, then continued in a softer voice, "I'm not saying we take running off the table, but... We promised when Mom died that we weren't going to run, that we'd never run again. If we're going to break that promise I want it to be because there's no other, better way."

Scott nodded and he was so close that Stiles could feel Scott's hair brush against his forehead when he did. "You're right. Of course you are." He met Stiles' gaze again, this time with eyes calm and determined, much more the way Stiles was used to Scott looking at him. "So do we have another, better, way?"

And that was the sticking point. He didn't, not yet. "I'm working on it," he admitted, bracing himself for Scott to go back to insisting they run.

Scott surprised him though. He merely nodded, looking at Stiles with complete confidence. "Would it help to talk it out?" he offered.

"I don't know," Stiles said, moving away from Scott to sit back down on the edge of the bed. "Maybe?"

Scott followed him over and sat down beside him making an encouraging noise in his throat.

After taking a deep breath, Stiles found an edge of the problem he could grab onto and started talking. "It's like you said," he began. "This is bad. I'm not denying that. But I can't help thinking that it might also be an opportunity in disguise."

"To... get back at the Argent?" Scott asked softly, eyes wide at the implications.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. I hope. We've got something he wants and that, that's leverage. With enough leverage you can do pretty much anything. We just have to figure out where to apply it to make it work."

"We need more information," Scott said.

"We need more information," Stiles agreed. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe it's worth the risk to ask the usual sources about the Finger..." He didn't want to as it was even more probable now that they knew the Argent was behind this that any mention of the Finger anywhere would put up all sorts of red flags.

"Or I could try tracking the guys who came after us again," Scott offered. "Maybe, even, as a last resort have a little chat with one of them."

Stiles frowned and shook his head a little. It made sense and everything he'd said to convince Scott to track them down in the first place still held true, but that was before the knew about the Argent's involvement. Now it felt too much like walking into a house on fire and trying not to get burned.

"You don't look convinced," Scott observed.

"No, it's a good idea," Stiles admitted. "I guess I just don't like the fact that it requires you to go out and take on all the risk by yourself."

"It's not that much of a risk," Scott said. "Like you said, they don't know what I look like when I'm not a wolf so..."

"I think if you jump one to ask them questions, they're going to figure it out anyway," Stiles pointed out. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration again. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we should just cut our losses and-"

"No," Scott cut him off. "You were right. This is too big a potential opportunity to pass up." He came over and sat down beside Stiles. "Look, let's compromise. How about I just do some more recon at a distance, see what I can learn that way. At the very least it'll make it easier to plan how to grab one of them if we do end up having to ask questions."

That didn't make Stiles as twitchy. He still didn't really like it, but he could deal. "Alright," he said. "But I'm coming with you when we get to the questioning stage." He held up a hand to forestall any objections. "I can and will wear a disguise. But I have to be there. You suck at interrogations. So I can ask the questions and you can stand there and be intimidating."

Scott thought that over for a moment before he nodded. "Fair enough."

Stiles sighed and slumped to the side just enough to lean against Scott. They had the beginnings of a plan which did not involve either of them needing to leave this room for a while so he felt like he could relax just a little. "You know, after all this, I'm tempted to just give up on the thieving," he mused.

Scott huffed a soft laugh even as he wrapped an arm around Stiles' shoulders to pull him closer. "No you're not," he said fondly.

"Okay, yeah, maybe not," Stiles admitted, happily snuggling up against Scott. "I'm just too damned good at it to give it up." He held up his hands and wriggled his fingers. "These are a gift from the gods. I can practically perform magic with them. It would be a crime not to use them to their full potential."

Scott leaned over to drop a kiss on Stiles left index finger. "Want to show me what other kinds of magic you can work with them?" he asked with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

Stiles grinned. "Scotty, my boy, I thought you'd never ask."

******

"This is such a bad idea," Scott complained for the hundredth time.

"So you keep reminding me," Stiles replied in what Scott long ago had dubbed his 'I'm humoring Scott even though I think I'm right,' tone. "And maybe it is, but it's the best one either one of us could come up with so..." He gestured widely at the shadowed alley they were lurking in, waiting for their quarry to return from the pub.

Stiles was right as far as it went too, which was the part that was really frustrating. Even after a solid week of covert observations of the men that had attacked them and the Argent's place on Scott's part and very discrete enquiries about the Finger to certain learned individuals, they still hardly knew more than they did when this whole thing started. Which meant they needed to take a more direct approach if they wanted to actually move forward. Which, in turn, led to them lurking in an alley waiting for Clay to stagger home so they could jump him and question him.

"I still wish you would've let me handle this alone," Scott said, putting voice to his pressing concern, namely that this plan put Stiles far closer to these men who knew what he looked like and were actively searching for him than Scott was comfortable with.

"Yeah, no way buddy," Stiles replied. "There's no way this would work with you doing it by your lonesome. One, it's awfully hard to play good wolf, bad wolf when there's only one of you. Two, you suck at playing bad wolf when you're not, y'know, an actual wolf. I, on the other hand excel at it. Face it, no matter how much you might wish differently, this is a two man job."

Scott knew Stiles was right and was honest enough to admit it, but that didn't mean he didn't wish it otherwise. The fact was this whole plan, despite being originally his idea, was giving him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, the kind of feeling he'd ignored in the past to his own peril. If he had even the barest of alternative ideas he would have nixed this plan immediately, no matter what Stiles had said.

"I know," he said, knowing if he didn't say something, Stiles would continue on with reasons why he had to be there. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No it does not," Stiles agreed, reaching out to pat Scott on the arm. "When this is all over, I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Before Scott could reply he caught Clay's scent on the shifting wind and turned his head to see the man in question staggering out of the nearby pub. "He's coming,"

Instantly Stiles went quiet and took a step back so he was behind Scott, just as he had promised he would once things started. Scott appreciated it because it meant he was able to turn his full attention on locking in on Clay's scent so he would be certain not to lose it. 

The plan was to follow him and then take him near the place they'd set up earlier to conduct their interrogation in. The best way to follow him with the least risk of getting caught was to do it as much by scent as Scott could manage. That way they could stay back beyond human visual range most of the time and so present a much less likely target.

With Clay's scent firmly in his nose, Scott waited until the man had disappeared from view before stepping out of the alley to follow. Stiles stayed with him, barely one step behind, close enough that Scott could feel his body heat if he concentrated. Stiles remained silent, which told Scott exactly how seriously he was taking all of this -- Stiles was never silent outside of life and death situations and very often not even then. It made Scott feel the slightest bit better that Stiles wasn't playing around and seemed to get how serious this whole situation could quickly get.

The plan, such as it was, was to grab Clay at a certain point about halfway between the pub he frequented and the lodgings he'd taken. They'd picked him because of that -- most of the others seemed to be bunked in the Argent's house and even Stiles agreed that was too hot to even attempt to breach. 

Scott had scouted out Clay's usual route thoroughly and he and Stiles together had pinpointed the exact spot that would be the easiest to jump him without causing any ruckus. All Scott had to do was keep them on Clay's trail until they got close to that spot, then they would dash ahead to be in position for the ambush.

Except there was one problem -- at the first cross street they came to, Clay's scent went in the opposite direction of what they were counting on.

"What is it?" Stiles asked quietly when Scott hesitated. 

"He's not going home," Scott replied, gesturing in the direction he had gone. "He's going that way instead."

"Damn," Stiles muttered, then tilted his head as he stared in the direction Scott had indicated. "He could turn off anywhere, I suppose, but if he continues that way he's going to end up in the warehouse area," he said thoughtfully. "That might be an even better place to grab him than what we originally planned."

Stiles had a point, there would probably be less people around for one thing, and there would be plenty of convenient places to take him for their little chat. But still... Scott had a bad feeling about this. "I don't like it," he said bluntly.

"Truthfully? Neither do I," Stiles admitted. "I don't like when we make a perfectly good plan and then have to change it on the fly. But that happens sometimes. Look, why don't we track him for now and if things look hinky we can decide to fade into the woodwork and ambush another night. Sound good?"

It sounded better at least and probably the best he was going to be able to get Stiles to agree to without a long argument. "I'm the one who gets to decide if things look hinky," Scott finally declared.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine. You're the one in charge of hinkiness identifying," he said impatiently. "Now come on before he gets too far ahead!"

Giving in, Scott started off on the scent trail Clay had left behind. It quickly became apparent that Stiles' guess was right and Clay was heading for the warehouse district. They had another quick debate about whether they should follow the original plan and take a different route to get ahead of him all the better to jump him, with Stiles arguing for and Scott against. Scott won that one by pointing out that this was not their carefully scouted route and it was therefore already dangerous enough without throwing in more variables, to which logic Stiles had reluctantly agreed.

Eventually the scent trail led to a worn down warehouse situated in such a way that it ended up being almost isolated from the others around it.

Stiles eyed the building with a practised eye. "We should be able to get in through the windows on the left side," he said. "Provided you can give me boost up so I can pick the lock."

Scott's bad feeling hadn't gone away, but one look at Stiles told him just what kind of reception a suggestion that they just wait outside would get him. "Okay," he gave in with a sigh.

His lack of enthusiasm did not phase Stiles in the least as he took over the lead and moved silently and swiftly to the windows in question. He naturally sought out the shadows as he moved and if Scott hadn't been so focused on him, he probably would've lost track of exactly where he was, Stiles was just that good. Even with the current state of his nerves, Scott had to take a moment to admire that.

That was about all the time he had to do so because as soon as he made it to the windows, Stiles was hissing at Scott to hurry up and give him a boost. Scott did so, cupping his hands so that Stiles could step into them and then lifting him higher as Stiles scrambled at the wall until Scott had lifted him high enough that he could reach the latch on his chosen window's shutters. 

It was the work of less than a minute for Stiles to pick the lock and get the window open, then bracing himself against the window ledge, he was pulling himself up out of Scott's grip and through the window and inside.

Only seconds after Stiles' feet had disappeared with the rest of him inside, his head popped up in the open window, a short enough interval that Scott didn't have time to work up any more worry. "You need a hand up?" Stiles asked in a loud whisper.

Scott just grinned in answer and jumped up, easily grabbing the edge of the window and pulling himself up and in to land lightly beside Stiles.

"....right," Stiles murmured, sounding half chagrined and half jealous, which just made Scott grin all the wider.

Sometimes Scott really loved being a werewolf.

Then the moment passed and Stiles was moving away deeper into the building, as silent and unnoticeable as a shadow, and Scott hurried to catch up. They reached a staircase that went down to the ground floor of the building and Stiles paused at the top, turning to put his mouth right up against Scott's ear.

"Any idea where our target is in here?" he asked, the words so quiet they barely even qualified as a whisper, Stiles' breath warm against Scott's skin. "And is he alone?"

Scott closed his eyes, concentrating on scent and hearing. There was only one heartbeat other than his and Stiles' and that was definitely Clay's scent.

"He's alone," he confirmed, but couldn't keep from frowning when he said it. There was something else, some other scent that he was catching. It wasn't human or animal -- he didn't know what it was – but it had his hackles up.

"But?" Stiles prompted. "That expression says there's a but coming. What is it?"

Scott shook his head, still frowning. "I don't know," he admitted. "But there's something."

Stiles studied his face for a long moment. "Do you think we should bail?" he asked seriously and Scott knew in that moment that if he said yes that Stiles would turn and walk away from this without any argument whatsoever.

He wanted to, but he also knew that they really did need more information if they were going to extricate themselves from this mess with the Finger and this was their best opportunity to get it. "No," he finally said with a sigh. "But just... stay close. And be ready for anything. And if I say run, _run_. No questions."

He must've looked really serious because Stiles didn't argue or anything, just nodded and gestured for Scott to lead the way deeper into the building.

They found Clay on the ground floor of the warehouse, standing in the middle of an open area, looking nothing more than like someone waiting for someone to show up for a scheduled rendezvous.

They spent a few minutes hiding behind some crates near the stairs they'd crept down just watching him. "What do you think?" Stiles finally asked.

"I think he's waiting for someone," Scott replied.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Well obviously. But do you think we can get over there, subdue him and drag him out of here before whoever it is he's waiting for shows up?"

For the first time since they started executing this plan, Scott smiled, partially because of the words _'out of here'_ and partially because the answer was so blatantly obvious. "Watch me," he said, and considering all the worry and disruption Clay and his compatriots had brought into their lives, Scott wasn't even going to feel guilty for enjoying this.

He moved fast from the shadows and across the floor to where Clay was standing, though it was still within human speeds. Barely. He was practically on top of the man before Clay even realized he was there, startling and trying to draw a weapon. Scott easily twisted Clay's hand making him drop the sword when it had barely cleared the scabbard, then grabbed him by the throat, letting his claws just barely extend. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned, hearing the wolf growl in his voice and knowing his eyes were flashing red. Scott just barely kept his fangs from descending.

Clay's eyes bugged out as he stared at Scott. "You're not- Where did you- Who _are_ you?" he stammered plaintively.

Scott didn't even need to look over his shoulder to know that Stiles would take that as his cue. He sauntered over looking like he didn't have a care in the world, stopping just behind Scott and smirking at Clay over Scott's shoulder.

It took a few seconds first for Clay to register Stiles' presence and a few more to recognize him. When he did, his face got exceedingly pale and then exceedingly red. " _You!_ " he spat out.

Even without looking at him, Scott could tell the Stiles' smirk had just gotten bigger. "Yep," he said. "It's little ole me. And Clay, buddy, you and me need to have a nice long chat. About everything you know about a certain little item. I'm sure you know which one I'm talking about, don't you?"

Clay swallowed hard, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape, not that Scott was going to let go of him long enough for that to happen. He licked his lips nervously and then said, "You don't know what you've gotten yourselves into. Who- who you're tangling with."

"You mean the Argent?" Stiles asked, then smirked again as Clay's eyes got even wider. "Yeah, we got that part. What we don't got is why -- why is he so invested in getting the Finger back? What is it? Besides an incredibly tacky and slightly creepy piece of silver metal work?"

"More creepy than you know," Clay said.

"Yeah?" Stiles asked, leaning around Scott to move even closer to Clay. "How? Why? Less vague pronouncements and more actual informative answers please or I'm going to have to have my friend here start breaking stuff. Like _your_ fingers."

Scott recognized a cue when he heard it and obligingly bared his teeth at Clay in a cross between a grin and a snarl. He let just the barest beginnings of the change happen so that there was a hint of fangs, but he knew he still looked human. Mostly.

Clay flinched back as much as he could with Scott holding him, face a veritable mask of fear, and for a second Scott thought it was because of his performance -- and then he heard the soft popping noises behind him. Glancing around, Scott saw several clouds of white smoke rising from various crates placed around the space.

"What the hell-?" Stiles started, having also spotted them, only to be cut off by a cry of pure terror from Clay.

"Nooooo!" he screamed, thrashing around in a panic despite Scott's hold on him. "They said they'd wait until I was clear!"

"Wait for what?" Scott demanded, the bad feeling he'd been having all day coming back stronger than ever. "What is that?"

"Poison!" Clay yelled, twisting and turning in such a way that Scott was having trouble holding onto him. He clamped down harder and Clay yelped. "Please," he begged, hands coming up to latch onto Scott's arm that was holding him by the throat. "We need to get out of here. That stuff... if we breathe too much of it, it'll kill us!"

Scott exchanged a questioning look with Stiles, who shrugged. "Could be a trick to get us out in the open or something, but," he continued eyeing Clay, "I don't think he's that good an actor."

"Agreed," Scott said. "Let's get moving."

They couldn't go back the way they had come as the cloud of probably poisonous smoke had spread through that end of the warehouse with an alarming speed so they turned and headed in the other way, towards the main entrance. Scott kept Stiles in front of him as he half dragged Clay along with them, not having released his grip on the man for a second. It wasn't all that difficult. Now that they were moving away from the smoke Clay had stopped thrashing about trying to escape, instead seeming to concentrate on moving as fast as he could.

Still, keeping him under control slowed Scott down enough that by the time they hit the doors outside, Stiles was several feet ahead of them.

He watched Stiles clear the building and keep running, changing his course mid-stride to head for the nearest alleyway. Scott made note of which way Stiles was going just as he reached the doorway...

...and hit something solid hard enough to not only throw him backwards onto the floor but stun him for a few seconds.

He shook his head, trying to regain his senses and looked around himself. Clay lay sprawled on the floor beside him, out cold, but still breathing. He looked up at the doorway; to his senses it still looked open and clear, but he had run into _something_...

He got to his feet, approaching it more cautiously this time, hand held out in front of him. When his fingers were about to breach the threshold they hit... something. It sent a jolt up his arm sharp enough to make him instinctively draw his hand back. Looking down, he saw a line of ash lining the threshold at the exact point where it seemed to have turned solid for him.

Great. Magic.

Scott knew he didn't have time to figure out how to break whatever magic was turning the air solid enough to keep him inside so he turned back to find another way out. 

Tendrils of the mysterious smoke were starting to reach him as he stopped to pick up Clay and head in the direction of the next door, which would be around the side of the building. The smoke had a scent that was for the most part lightly floral, but Scott could feel his stomach start to twist and his lungs try to close up as he breathed it in despite his best intentions. Holding his breath as best he could, he moved faster, knowing he was running on borrowed time now.

By the time he reached the side entrance, his eyes were streaming, he was coughing violently and fighting the urge to throw up. He staggered towards the open doorway and its beckoning safety...

Only to once again bounce off an invisible barrier. 

This time when Scott went down he didn't get back up. His last sight before he blacked out was of armored, masked figures stepping through the doorway that had barred his way as if there was nothing there.

***** 

Stiles had been running full out, secure in the knowledge that Scott was right behind him, guarding his back. Scott was always guarding his back. He was two streets and one alley away before he realized that that was no longer true. 

Cursing himself for the embarrassing lapse in awareness and swallowing the sudden pit of fear that was trying to choke him, he turned back, retracing his steps as quickly as he could. He had just reached the alley that led out into the street right in front of the warehouse when someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him back into the deeper shadows.

Stiles' yelp was muffled by a hand over his mouth and arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly no matter how much he kicked and flailed in an attempt to get away. He had just reached for the dagger he had secreted up his sleeve when whoever it was that was holding him growled into his ear, "Be still or the Argent's men will find us."

That did get Stiles to pause in his struggles for a moment. Sure enough, when he looked back at the warehouse he saw at least twenty men dressed in the uniform of the Argent's personal guards securing the area. Then the Argent himself walked out of the warehouse and Stiles froze completely. He may have even stopped breathing.

He watched as the Argent ordered two guards inside. They reappeared a few moments later, carrying a limp body between them.

 _Scott_.

Stiles went wild. He struggled against the man that held him, kicking and scratching and flailing, biting the hand that was still being held firmly over his mouth, muffling his outraged yelling, all to no avail. The grip holding him never weakened, not even a little. He was being held still despite his best efforts to get away, to get to Scott who might be- might be-

"-alive. He's alive, I promise, Stiles, I can hear his heartbeat. He's alive." Stiles suddenly registered the words being repeated over and over in a low voiced whisper directly into his ear.

 _Alive._ The reassurance, though he had no idea if it was reliable or not, calmed his panic enough that he started thinking again instead of just reacting. Thinking about such things as the fact that the guards weren't just throwing Scott into the back of the covered cart they had with them, but taking the time to put him in chains first. They wouldn't take the time or effort to chain up a corpse; therefore the guy holding onto him was right and Scott was alive.

The relief at that realization was almost physical and Stiles had to take a moment to just breathe and feel it. Not that the situation wasn't still incredibly dire, but Scott was not dead. That meant that he could fix this.

Somehow.

The guy holding him was talking again. "You can't help him if you get caught too and that's exactly what will happen if you go out there right now. We'll get him back, I promise, but we have to play this smart."

As much as he was loathe to admit it, the guy was right. Try as he might, Stiles couldn't see a way he could get to Scott and free him right now without ending up chained up beside him. Or worse. He was going to have to come at that problem from a different angle and, by necessity, a different location.

That wasn't the only thing he had to worry about although Scott's well being was always going to be at the top of his list of worries. But his own well being was pretty damn high as well and there was the question of just who the hell was restraining him.

"What do you mean 'we'?" he demanded, keeping his voice down in deference to the nearby Argent men. He started squirming against the hold he was in again, but this time in an effort to turn around and see his... attacker? Rescuer? Enemy? Potential ally? Stiles didn't know exactly what to refer to him as. This time the grip holding him loosened enough that he was able to complete the movement.

The man holding him was about his height, with dark hair, dark stubble bordering on a full beard, and very aggressive looking eyebrows. Stiles didn't immediately recognize the face, but there was something familiar about it nonetheless.

"Who are you?" he wondered, half actual question, half thinking out loud. "How do you know my name?" Something else jumped out at him then from what the guy had said -- he'd heard Scott's heartbeat. "You're like Scott -- a werewolf!"

The guy's eyes flashed blue at that, whether it be in startlement or acknowledgement Stiles didn't know, but it jogged loose an old memory. _Blue eyes flashing under aggressively bushy eyebrows._ He'd seen that before.

The wounded werewolf on the run that their village had taken in and cared for, the one that the Argent had ripped Stiles' world apart in an effort to catch. It took a few seconds, but the name came back to him. "Hale," he breathed. 

Hale nodded, the movement barely perceptible. Stiles probably would've missed it if he hadn't been watching so closely. "Derek," he offered. 

"Oh man, I'm glad you got away," Stiles babbled. "We thought the Argent killed everyone 'cept us." To know that Scott and he weren't the only survivors of their village eased something in Stiles that had been wound tight for so long he hadn't even noticed it any more. 

"No, not everyone," Derek said.

"And you recognized Scott and me after all this time? I mean, it's been years and we've changed. A lot."

"Your scent hasn't."

Huh. That... made sense. Even though Stiles was still surprised that Derek remembered his scent, considering he and Scott had just been little kids when this all happened.

Derek had released Stiles when he had turned around to face him, but now he grabbed onto Stiles' wrist and tried to drag him down the alley. "Come on."

Stiles reflexively dug his heels in, looking back over his shoulder at the guards who were now forming up around the covered cart they'd thrown Scott into. "But-" 

Derek's expression softened just a little. "I can track him," he reassured Stiles. "But I'm not here alone. I need to go meet up with my friends and trust me, you _really_ want to come with me." When Stiles still hesitated he vowed, "We'll get him back, I promise. They'll help."

Stiles believed Derek. He wasn't sure why considering he never took anything at face value and didn't trust anyone but Scott since his mom had died, but he did. Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the guards hauling Scott away and nodded. "Okay. Lead the way."

******

Derek led Stiles through streets and alleyways circling and backtracking so much that if Stiles had known the city one iota less well than he did he would've been completely turned around. Finally he tapped Derek on the shoulder. "Pretty sure if anyone is still following us it's going to take more than double backing on our trail for the tenth time to shake them."

Derek gave him a grudging look of approval. "You caught all of those?"

Stiles snorted. "Dude, I know this city better than the back of my hand. You're not going to be able to get me turned around. If that's what you're trying to do, stop it. You're just wasting both our times. Time that could be spent figuring out how to rescue Scott."

He didn't really get an answer from Derek -- as he refused to call the slight huff of air that he did get an actual answer -- but their route suddenly became much more straight forward and ended quickly at one of the ubiquitous pubs with rooms to rent above it. They went through the pub part without stopping then up a narrow staircase that creaked with every step they took, then finally to a room at the end of the hall on the top floor. Stiles followed him inside and looked around with interest.

"You're late," a man standing by the window in far corner said in a very familiar voice, one that stopped Stiles dead.

There were several people in the room, but Stiles only had eyes for the speaker. He was visibly older, his hair greyer and with more lines carved by worry into his face, but it was still a face Stiles would recognize anywhere, and one that Stiles thought he'd never see again outside of dreams and memories.

It took several tries to get his voice to work and when it did it came out sounding much younger than it usually did. "Dad?"

He watched as his father's quick glance at him turned into an intent stare, then an assessing squint eyed gaze that Stiles remembered him wearing whenever he was trying to figure something out. He watched as his dad's expression went from anger to uncertainty to disbelief to finally a sort of fragile, desperate hope that made Stiles' heart beat faster.

When he finally uttered a hesitant, hoarse, "St- Stiles?" Stiles broke, darting across the room and throwing his arms around his father and held on tight. His dad's arms wrapped around him just as tightly and Stiles buried his face in his shoulder letting himself pretend for a moment that he was still that little boy who believed that his father's embrace was the safest place in existence, just like he believed his dad could fix anything that was wrong.

Reality came crashing back in soon enough with the sound of someone very pointedly clearing their throat. "Someone you know, I take it?" a male voice asked dryly.

Stiles raised his head to look at the speaker. It was a man his father's age or slightly younger. He was tall, with sandy brown hair and beard and ice blue eyes that were watching Stiles intently, like the guy was trying to figure out the best way of disposing of Stiles' body once he killed him. 

Stiles' dad pulled back from their embrace to answer Intimidating Guy, but kept an arm around Stiles' shoulders. "This is my son."

Intimidating Guy raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. "I thought your son was dead. Killed in that raid ten years ago along with your wife."

"We weren't," Stiles said, gesturing at himself. "Obviously."

Stiles' dad's arm around his shoulders tightened. "Obviously I was wrong."

"Were you?" Intimidating Guy asked. "Are you sure that's your son? He was eight years old when you last saw him. How sure are you that this teenager is that same boy?"

Stiles tensed up at that because yeah, he could see where that would be a valid concern. His dad hadn't changed much in the nine years since the raid on their village, but Stiles knew he had. He opened his mouth to offer to provide proof of any kind they asked, but was interrupted by his dad. 

"I'm sure," Dad said firmly. "I know my own kid, Chris. Doesn't matter what age he is."

"Looks can change but scents don't," Derek said, speaking up for the first time since they entered the room. "He smells like Stilinski in the way only family can. It's Stiles."

Intimidating Guy -- Chris -- looked like he wanted to argue the point some more, but apparently knew enough not to argue with a werewolf's nose. Arguing with the actual werewolf however he seemed perfectly willing to do. "And you just happened to stumble over a long lost relative when we're about to make our move? Doesn't that seem a little too convenient to anybody else?"

"I didn't just stumble over him," Derek replied before Stiles could open his mouth to defend himself. "I've been catching hints of his scent along with that of another wolf on and off since we got to the city. Today's just the first time I've picked up a trail fresh enough to track."

Chris grumphed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Still feels like a trap to me. I've said that all along."

"You were right," Derek told him. "It was a trap." He nodded towards Stiles. "He and his wolf friend sprung it. Stiles got out, but they had mountain ash laid down. His friend was trapped."

"It's Scott, Dad," Stiles said, turning to his father. "Last we saw him they were taking him away in chains. We've got to rescue him!"

"Scott's here too....?" Dad looked startled for a moment, but quickly recovered and nodded. "We'll get him back, Stiles, I promise."

"Another long lost relative?" Chris asked, still sounding more than a little skeptical.

"Not of mine, although Stiles and Scott were always as close as brothers. But Scott is Melissa's boy," Dad told him. "And laying my own personal feelings aside, do you really want to go home and tell her that we found out her son is alive but we couldn't get to him?"

Stiles could actually see Chris imagining that just bythe changes in his expression. "Fine," he finally said. "Since they didn't kill him at the site, they'd take him to the cells at the Argent manor. We can add breaking out a werewolf from a place no one's ever escaped from to our list of goals. Because trying to break into Gerard's private collection wasn't impossible enough all on its own."

Stiles found himself caught between relief that they were going to help get Scott back and open mouthed shock at what apparently they were planning on doing. "You're going to rob the Argent? No one's ever succeeded at doing that, not the stuff he keeps in Argent manor. The security there is virtually impossible to get through." God knew Stiles had spent lots of spare time trying to solve that particular mental puzzle all to no avail.

"We've got something no one else has ever had," Dad told him.

"What?"

"A man who knows all the weak spots from the inside." He nodded towards Chris. "Stiles, this is Chris _Argent_."

"Argent?!" Stiles felt his eyes go wide. "As in..."

"Gerard Argent is my father," Chris said, sounding uncomfortable, which was a step up from the accusing tone he'd been using towards Stiles up to that point. "I grew up in that house. I know all its secrets."

Stiles stared. "Holy shit," he blurted. Suddenly breaking into the Argent manor to get Scott out seemed a lot more doable.

*****

Scott woke up feeling confused, disoriented and sick, far worse than he could remember feeling in recent memory.

He didn't know where he was. He lay still and tried to put together the picture his senses were giving him, but for far too long all he was getting was a cacophony of strange echoing footsteps and distant voices, blurry torchlit shadows, and the scent of metal and dust, blood and pain, death and fear. 

It took time but he was finally able to regain enough control of himself to filter out what he was experiencing enough to make sense of it, though the coherent version wasn't much more encouraging than his first impressions had been.

He was in a small, bare stone room. The only door was metal and solid, save for a small latched window at about face level which was currently closed. He had been right about the torchlight -- two torches wedged into sconces near the ceiling over the door provided the only illumination. It was, very obviously, a cell.

But just in case it wasn't obvious enough, Scott was chained to the wall as well. Heavy metal cuffs encircled both wrists and ankles as well as a larger, less crude circle of metal encircling his neck. All the cuffs were attached to chains that were attached to specific points on the wall that looked made for that purpose. All of this left Scott with very little range of motion -- he could neither stretch out and lie down or stand up fully, confined mostly to the cramped, slumped over sitting position he had awakened in.

All in all it was far from the most encouraging surroundings to wake up to.

The echoing footsteps he'd heard were, Scott assumed, guards patrolling. He reached out with his hearing, trying to figure out how many different ones there were and exactly where they were walking in relation to where he was being kept. He figured the information would be important if -- when -- he managed to free himself.

He thought he'd counted at least three different sets walking the same route roughly every fifteen minutes or so when he heard a new set, walking at a faster more purposeful pace and heading directly for his cell. They paused right outside and then the latch on the window in the door was opened and someone -- from his angle Scott could only see one eye -- was peering in at him. The scent he could catch was vaguely familiar in a way that sent up alarm bells though he couldn't place it. Plus it had a weird undertone to it, like the hint of something rotting that had been covered up by perfume. It put Scott's hackles up and he had a hard time not growling at the door.

"You're awake, good," the man said and the voice was likewise familiar and alarming. Then the door opened and the man stepped inside and Scott got his first good look at him and understood _why_.

It was the Argent himself.

The Argent gave Scott a pleasant smile even as Scott tried to unconsciously merge himself with the wall behind him. "You and I, my young wolf, have a lot to talk about."

Scott swallowed hard. He was so very very screwed.

*****

"You sure we're going the right way?" Stiles asked nervously.

"Yes," Derek replied, glancing over his shoulder at him. "Now hush."

"You're not tracking by scent are you? Because I know these aren't actually the sewers but they're sewer adjacent enough that even my non-wolfy nose is a little offended at the smell. I don't want to think what it must smell like to you!"

"I'm not tracking by scent," Derek said, sounding a bit more terse this time. "I know where we're going. I memorized the map Chris drew for us of the tunnels."

"Oh," Stiles said. "Makes sense."

He managed to stop asking questions then, but couldn't really stop the excess nervous energy that he was dealing with. 

There was a lot for him to be nervous about, the least of it being the chance of them getting lost. He was worried about Scott and what might be happening to him. They were going to get him back -- that's why Derek and he were down in these very sewer like tunnels in the first place -- but that didn't stop Stiles from imagining all sorts of horrible things that the Argent could be doing to Scott in the meantime. Sometimes having a vivid imagination was more of a curse than a blessing.

He was worried about his dad as well. While Stiles and Derek were sneaking into the Argent manor via old escape tunnels that Chris had assured them no one knew about, Chris and Stiles' dad were taking the much more direct approach of going in dressed as guards. They'd actually been in and out several times in that guise already so Stiles had no reason to believe that they'd have any more problems doing it again now. But. This was his dad and he just got him back. He didn't even want to think about losing him again.

Besides, Dad and Chris were going in to steal something out of the Argent's super secret vault and that was unimaginably risky no matter how good their disguises were. Stiles actually still felt a little guilty for not offering to help them with that. After all, if there was one thing Stiles had become very good at, it was stealing things. But they had to rescue Scott at the same time and family or not, there was no one else Stiles was comfortable trusting that task to -- trusting Scott's safety to -- than himself. So he'd had to content himself with bombarding Dad and Chris with as much unsolicited tips and hints on how to steal stuff without getting caught as he could in the short time between being informed of the plan and they parting company to start carrying said plan out.

Chris actually hadn't looked all that thankful for the help, and although Dad had thanked him, his expression while Stiles had been talking had wavered from amused to shocked straight through to scandalized and back again so Stiles thought he might have ended up alarming his father more than helping him, but whatever. Knowing how to check locks for traps was a very important skill every thief should know and Stiles was sure they'd be grateful when that knowledge proved as useful as he knew it was.

Up ahead of him, Stiles saw Derek pause at a fork in the tunnel. "Oh god, we're lost aren't we?" he asked, immediately jumping to the worst conclusion.

Well, not the _worst_ , the worst would be them turning a corner to come face to face with an army of the Argent's guards. But getting lost was pretty up there as well.

Derek made an impatient shushing motion at Stiles, his hand movements sharp and annoyed. "Quiet!"

Stiles obligingly lowered his voice, but couldn't keep himself completely silent. "But are we-"

"We're not lost," Derek interrupted in a hushed voice that nonetheless embodied the word grumpy. "We're almost at the place where we're going to exit the tunnels and I'm just trying to listen for any guards that might be near enough to see us. If someone would shut up long enough that I could do that..."

"Okay, okay, geez. All you had to do was ask." Stiles mimed turning a key in a lock over his lips and then throwing the key away.

Derek stared at him for a heartbeat and Stiles was pretty sure his eyebrows were judging him. But then Derek's attention seemed to be drawn upward, his eyes darting towards the ceiling briefly while he cocked his head much the same way Scott did when he was listening to something that Stiles couldn't hear.

Derek shot a hand out, motioning for Stiles to be still and quiet though Stiles was already doing both those things, so Stiles did the only thing he could think of to be even more still -- he held his breath.

Which just made the next few seconds seem even more tense and longer than they would've already. But finally Derek relaxed and Stiles let out his breath in a loud whoosh, which got him judging eyebrows again. Stiles gave him questioning eyebrows in return and Derek just sighed. 

"The way's clear for now," he said, leading the way down the shorter tunnel which dead ended in about twenty feet with a ladder attached to the wall. Before they started climbing it Derek turned to Stiles. "Once we're up there, stay behind me and stay quiet. If Scott is in there I should be able to catch his scent and lead you to him. We'll get him out, I promise."

Stiles was surprised at how much that reassurance helped, considering he'd known Derek less than a day, their meeting years ago aside. But there was something about him, be it that he was a werewolf like Scott, or that his dad knew and trusted him that made Stiles want to trust him too, judging eyebrows and all.

So he just nodded and did his best to do as Derek bade, following him silently up the ladder and through the trap door at the top of it.

The corridor they came out into was bare stone, lit only be torches set in sconces every few feet. From what Stiles could glimpse in the rooms they passed it appeared to be part of a guard barracks.

Stiles had expected that they would eventually be going _down_ if they ended up going in any direction other than horizontal, but Derek led him up staircase after staircase. They moved deeper into the place, with Derek occasionally pulling Stiles into doorways or around corners when he heard someone coming. 

Finally, when Stiles judged they had to be near the top of even the super tall Argent manor, Derek stopped in front of a heavy metal door that was obviously locked. He looked at Stiles questioningly. "Can you...?"

Stiles was already pulling his lock picks out of his sleeve. "No problem," he said, slipping in front of Derek and bending over a little to get a better look at the lock while he worked. 

It turned out not to be a very complicated device and Stiles had it open in less than a minute. When the last of the tumblers fell into place with a noticeable click, he stepped back to let Derek take the lead again.

Only to have Derek go to push the door open and stop with a deep frown. 

"What is it?" Stiles asked in a whisper.

Derek shook his head and stepped back. "You're going to have to open it. It's been warded against wolves."

Which made the likelihood that this was where Scott was being kept go way up. Stiles immediately stepped forward again, turned the handle and pushed the door open, with no more problems than any other heavy metal door would've given him.

He was aware of Derek standing behind him close enough that he could feel his body heat. "See that line of ash on the floor along the threshold?" Derek whispered directly into his ear.

Stiles glanced down and sure enough there was a line of black just inside the door. "Yeah."

"That's mountain ash. Break the line and you break the ward. I'll be able to go in and we'll be able to get Scott out."

Stiles nodded and knelt down to brush it away, but when his fingers got within a few inches of it, he felt a weird tingling sensation shoot through them. He paused, frowned, then made a flicking motion as if he could flick away the weird feeling. 

Surprisingly it worked. And not only that, but the line of mountain ash had broken when he'd made the gesture. That was... weird.

Not that he had any time to dwell on it at the moment because as soon as the line broke, Derek was moving past him and up the staircase that was on the other side of the door. Stiles had to hurry to keep up.

He more than half expected them to run into some guards when they reached the top of the stairs, but there was no one in the small narrow hallway they opened up on. Derek was moving fast now and had to almost run to keep up with him.

Which was why when Derek stopped abruptly in front of a reinforced door, Stiles ran right into the back of him, bounced off, stumbled and flailed in an effort not to fall down.

Derek just gave him a look. "Really?"

"Shut up," Stiles shot back. "And maybe next time give some warning."

That earned him an epic eye roll. Then Derek gestured at the door. "Scott's scent is coming from in there."

As soon as the words registered, Stiles was pushing Derek aside and scrambling to open the latched window on the door to look inside.

It was so dark inside that at first all Stiles could make out were shadows, but as his eyes adjusted he was able to make out a figure slumped in chains against the far wall. Even with limited visibility he knew who it was. 

"Scott!" he loudly whispered, trying to get his attention. What he really wanted to do was yell, but they were still sneaking so a loud whisper would have to do.

Except Scott didn't answer. The only reaction he had was to try and curl in on himself which he couldn't do because of the chains attached to the wall.

Which made Stiles even more frantic than he already was. But he took a second to take a deep breath and calm himself down as much as he could. He was going to need steady hands if he was going to pick the rather formidable looking lock on the door.

But even as formidable as the lock was, Stiles had it open in a matter of seconds. Getting to Scott was an excellent motivator. 

When he opened the door and the light from the corridor illuminated the interior, Stiles immediately saw the two lines of mountain ash -- the first just inside the door's threshold, and the second in a semi-circle around where Scott was slumped.

"Wow, overkill much?" he muttered as he knelt over the first line and made the same hand gesture he'd done last time and just like last time, the ash was swept away as if he'd actually touched it. He did the same thing to the ash semi-circle and then, finally, he was able to kneel at Scott's side.

"Scott?" he asked, reaching out gently to lift Scott's head from its slump. "You with me, buddy?"

Scott's eyelids fluttered for a moment before they opened to half mast. "Stiles?" he asked, voice slurred as he tried to focus on him.

"Yeah, it's me," Stiles replied, equal parts relieved that Scott was responding to him and worried about how out of it he still seemed. He turned to where Derek was standing, a couple of feet behind him, watching them both. "What's wrong with him?" he demanded.

Derek seemed to take that as permission to move closer, kneeling beside Stiles to take a closer look at Scott. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I would guess that Argent gave him something to keep him like this."

"Like poison?!" Stiles almost yelped. He shouldn't have to worry about Scott being poisoned, that was one of the awesome things about his being a werewolf -- things that would harm a normal human had no affect on him. Stiles wasn't prepared for the knowledge that there were still things that would.

"Relax," Derek told him. He reached out and checked Scott's eyes, felt for his pulse in his neck and then gripped his left forearm. "I know how to help him throw off the effects." Then he twisted Scott's arm hard. 

Scott's whimper of pain was almost drowned out by the distinctive crack of a bone breaking.

"What the fuck?!" Stiles pushed Derek away from Scott and put himself in between them, his dagger in his hand. 

"Relax," Derek told him. "I was just triggering the healing process."

"You broke his arm!"

"And it's already healing," Derek shot back. "And while his body is healing that, it'll also push whatever potion Argent gave him out of his blood stream."

"You don't break bones to sober someone up!" Stiles told him, waving his dagger in Derek's direction. "We're here to rescue him, not hurt him even more than he already is!"

"Stiles." 

That was Scott's voice, sounding much more like he normally did. Stiles gave Derek one final glare then knelt down beside Scott again. "How you doing, buddy?" 

Scott's eyes were now wide open and clear of the fogginess they'd had just a moment before. "Better than I was. Feel like I can think again." So it had worked. That didn't mean Stiles was any less pissed off at Derek for the bone breaking. "What are you doing here?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "What do you think, dumbass? Rescuing you. You think I'd let a little thing like the Argent and all his security and men keep me from getting you back?"

Scott looked at Stiles with his big dark eyes like Stiles was something amazing that he couldn't believe existed. "When you put it that way... Thanks."

Stiles leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. "You can thank me after we've all gotten away from here." He pulled his lock picks out again. "Hold still and I'll get you out of those chains."

He got to work on the locks, Scott patiently holding his limbs wherever Stiles shoved them to better be able to see what he was doing. 

"You look familiar," Scott said, and Stiles glanced up to see Scott regarding Derek thoughtfully.

"He should," Stiles said. He got the collar around Scott's neck open and removed and moved on to his wrists. "Let me make the introductions. Derek, this is Scott McCall. Scott this is Derek Hale." He glanced up from his work on getting the chains off Scott to take in his expression at that.

Scott's eyes got wide in surprise as he looked at Derek. "The same...?"

"Yep," Stiles said, as the first manacle fell open and he shifted to Scott's other side to do his other wrist. "And that's not all. You're not going to believe who's currently breaking into the Argent's vault while we perform the daring prison break."

"Who?"

"My dad." 

"Oh my god. Seriously?"

"Seriously." Stiles couldn't hold back the grin any more. 

Scott grinned right back at him. "Stiles, that's amazing!"

"I know! I still can hardly believe... My _dad_ , Scott." The second manacle opened and Stiles shifted again to reach the ones on Scott's ankles. 

He felt Scott stiffen suddenly at the same time out of the corner of his eye he saw Derek do the same thing. "What is it?" he demanded.

"Alarm's been raised," Derek replied.

"By us?" Stiles asked, ready to panic.

It was Scott who shook his head. "Doesn't sound like it. It's moving away from us-"

"-towards the vault," Derek finished.

 _Dad!_ Stiles redoubled his efforts to get the last of the chains off of Scott which he managed to do less than a minute later.

"We need to go," Derek commanded and though he was completely motionless, he still gave off the impression of vibrating with stress to Stiles.

"How you doing?" he asked Scott as he pulled him to his feet.

There was a pause as Scott took inner stock. "Better," he said. "I'm not completely up to full speed yet, but I'm definitely well enough to help save your dad."

"What?" Derek said with a frown. "No, we're not... I told your dad I'd get you in and out of here safely." His eyes shifted to Scott. "Both of you."

"And so you better come with us to make sure we do," Stiles countered smoothly. He glanced at Scott. "Ready?" 

Scott nodded. "I can hear where all the ruckus is happening. We can head towards that and when we get closer..."

"Improvise," Stiles finished with a tight grin which Scott returned.

"This is a bad idea," Derek grumbled, though he nonetheless fell in step behind them as they exited Scott's erstwhile cell. 

"Dude, all our ideas are bad ideas," Scott told him.

"Yeah, but we make it work," Stiles added, feeling, despite the situation, like the world had righted itself now that he had Scott back. 

Between Scott's and Derek's -- who came along willingly enough even though he continued grumbling under his breath -- senses they were able to make their way fairly quickly to the other side of the Argent property without being seen.

When they were about halfway there, even Stiles could make out the noises that had alerted the other two, the sounds of some kind of fight going on. He tried to take the continued noises as a good thing -- proof that whatever else was happening, his dad and Chris were still able to fight.

They slowed when they got closer, having to move more cautiously to avoid being discovered. Stiles' mind was already turning to trying to come up with a plan, but he was being stymied by lack of information.

"We really need to be able to get a look at what's going on before we can figure out what we should do," he said.

Derek rolled his eyes and sighed. "Wait here," he ordered, then took off down the corridor towards where the noise of fighting was coming from. He was gone from sight before Stiles could even get out a strangled 'Wait!'

"That's just great," he groused to Scott, feeling his tension and stress ratcheting up with each passing second. "Wait here, he says. Like hell am I waiting here. I hate waiting, especially when I don't know what I'm waiting for. Or when my dad could be getting himself killed. This is just like when we were kids and he was all 'wait here and stay quiet' and then he went off and we were good and stayed quiet and everybody died! Not this time. I'm not- Mmmph!" Stiles' stream of increasingly panicked words were cut off when Scott leaned over and kissed him. Which after half a second's startlement had Stiles kissing back because it was Scott and he was never not going to kiss Scott back.

"Sorry," Scott said when he finally pulled back, looking at Stiles with that very Scott-like earnest expression. "But you were about five seconds away from working yourself into a full blown panic attack and that was the fastest way I could think of to stop it."

He had been and it did so Stiles couldn't really fault Scott's strategy. "Thanks," he said. Then, "I really can't just wait here."

Scott nodded, looking determined. "We're not going to. We're big enough we can help fight now." He started down the corridor that Derek had disappeared down a few minutes before. "Come on."

The sounds of the fighting got louder as they headed down the corridor, but it sounded like it was moving as while they were getting closer, they weren't getting as close as they should be at the speed they were travelling. Still, it was probably a good sign that it was moving. It meant that Dad and Chris Argent hadn't got cornered somewhere.

Yet.

Stiles started moving a little faster at that thought.

They rounded a corner and ran smack dab into Derek returning. He glared at them from under those judging eyebrows. "I thought I told you two to wait."

"Yeah, that was never going to happen," Stiles said.

"What did you find?" Scott asked.

"At the moment it's just house guards involved, but there's a lot of them. So far Stilinski and Argent are staying ahead of them, but it's probably only a matter of time before they get boxed in."

Scott's eyes widened. "Argent?"

"Chris Argent, he's the Argent's son," Stiles filled him in quickly. "He was kind of a dick to me but my dad trusts him so we're counting him as a good guy for now." He turned back to Derek. "So what do we do?"

"When we were going through the tunnels earlier, there was that other tunnel, remember?" When Stiles nodded he continued. "I found the entrance to it in a room that isn't too far from where they are right now. The tunnel smelled newer than the one we took, new enough that I don't think Chris knows about it." He looked at Stiles. "If I gave you directions, do you think you can lead them to it?"

"Of course," Stiles said. If there was one thing he was confident in, it was his sense of direction. "But I'm not so sure how to avoid leading all the guards too."

"That's where Scott and I come in." Derek looked at Scott. "Think you're up to some wolfy distraction?"

"Anything," was Scott's immediate answer.

"Then you and I will attack and draw the guards off, lead them in circles while Stiles gets the others out, then we make a break for it and get out of here before the Argent or someone who knows how to contain a werewolf shows up."

And Stiles hadn't thought about that last bit. That after all of this it was possible that Scott could end up right back in that cell because he was helping Stiles' dad. "Scott, you don't have-" he began, needing to give him the out.

"It's your _dad_ ," Scott replied, breaking in before Stiles could even finish his sentence. He reached out for Stiles' hand. "Of course I do. Don't worry about me. You get them to the tunnel and Derek and I will run for the hills before the Argent even knows we're involved."

And what could he say to that? So he just nodded, squeezed Scott's hand and looked at Derek. "Let's do this."

Derek quickly gave Stiles the directions to where the entrance to the tunnel was, then led them through side corridors and around pockets of house guards until they spotted Stiles' dad and Chris Argent.

"Okay," Derek said in a hushed voice. "Wait until Scott and I draw off the guards then move."

Stiles nodded, wondering how he could feel his heart beat so rapidly while at the same time it felt like it had relocated to his throat. "Got it."

Scott stepped forward and kissed Stiles, who wrapped his arms around him and kissed back with everything he had. Just in case. "Meet back at our place," Scott said when they finally reluctantly stepped back from each other. 

Stiles nodded once, sharply. "Don't spend too much time playing chase the guard. I don't want to have to come back and drag your ass out of here for a second time. And you know I will if I have to."

Scott smiled at him. "I know."

Derek looked over at Scott when he moved to stand beside him. "Ready?"

Scott nodded. "Let's do it."

Stiles held his breath as he watched them both transform into their wolf forms. Derek was actually a little smaller than Scott, though he seemed a bit more bulky with muscle. And, of course, Derek's eyes were blue while Scott's were that deep red. Other than that they looked enough alike to be brothers.

That was all the comparison Stiles had time to make before the two wolves slipped around the corner and dove into the mass of guards converging on Stiles' dad and Chris. It didn't take much more than some blood curdling howls and a couple of nips and growls for them to get the guards all following them, leaving the way clear for Stiles. 

"Here goes nothing," Stiles muttered under his breath as he ran to join his dad and Chris.

*****

It worked, surprisingly enough, exactly like they planned it. Stiles hustled his dad -- and Scott still can't get over how amazing it is that he was still alive, it was like some higher power decided to grant one of their most heartfelt wishes -- and the younger Argent guy out of there while he and Derek kept all of the guards' attention on them. It wasn't even that hard, had felt like some kind of game even, some strange hybrid of tag and keep away and by the time they made their own escape Scott was riding a wave of exhilaration that had him grinning and unable to stop.

He was still grinning when they changed back to human form after Scott had led them to one of the caches of supplies he and Stiles had stowed at various points around the city.

Stiles was usually the more effusive between the two of them but Scott couldn't help but comment to Derek, "That was so awesome!"

Derek, who in the short time Scott had known him had always worn a glare of varying intensity actually gave a small smile at that. "It was," he admitted. "When was the last time you ran with another wolf?"

Scott blinked, surprised at the question. "Never," he replied. "There hasn't been any other... since I could change, it's always been just me and Stiles. Stiles runs with me sometimes, but-"

"But it's not the same with humans," Derek finished for him knowingly. "Even when they're pack."

"I guess. If running with other wolves feels like what that just felt like-"

"It's better," Derek said. "When you're running just for the sake of running with your whole pack... it's like that. Only better." Derek looked at him for a moment, considering. "You and Stiles aren't really attached to this city are you?"

Scott shook his head. "Not suicidally so." With everything that had happened, the Argent knowing what he looked like and what he was, on top of Stiles' face still being all over the place on wanted posters, Scott already knew they were going to have to move on. 

"Good. Because I know Stilinski's not going to leave until he convinces the two of you to come back with us. And when we do get home, I'll show you what a real pack run is like. Deal?"

Scott liked the sound of that. A lot. He suddenly could envision a whole new life laid out for him and Stiles, better than what they had now because they wouldn't be alone anymore. "Deal," he said.

They both changed into clothes from the hidden cache, Derek being close enough to Stiles in size that his things fit more or less. It didn't take long after that for them to make their way back to Scott's and Stiles' place though Scott felt hyper vigilant the entire way, just waiting for the Argent himself to jump out of the shadows and grab him again. 

He didn't really relax until he crossed the threshold of their place and saw Stiles and the other two men were there safe and sound.

"Finally!" Stiles said, seeming equally relieved to see them. He crossed the room in a rush and threw his arms around Scott, which had Scott automatically tightening his arms around Stiles in return. "Did you take the scenic route or something? I was about five seconds away from going back out there to look for you."

"Had to make sure we'd shaken all pursuit and then we had to stop and get clothes," Scott said. He just barely resisted the urge to bury his face in Stiles' neck and simply breathe in his scent. 

"I suppose that's a good enough excuse," Stiles allowed. He let go of Scott though he still kept hold of his hand and used it to drag him across the room to where the others were standing. "Dad, you remember Scott, right?"

"I do," Stiles' dad said, smiling at Scott. He looked pretty much like what Scott remembered, if a bit older and even if he hadn't, Scott would have known who he was from his scent. He smelled enough like Stiles that they had to be related. "It's good to see you again, son."

"You too," Scott replied, returning the smile. "Really good." To discover that either of them had any family left was nothing short of amazing.

"I can't wait to see Melissa's reaction when she finds out," Stiles' dad said and wait, what?

Scott glanced over at Stiles then back to Stiles' dad. He cleared his throat and managed to ask without his voice cracking too much, "My mom's alive?"

Stiles' dad looked startled then immediately serious. "She's very much alive. I'm sorry, I didn't think you thought..."

"Dad, we thought the village had been completely destroyed. We literally believed that we were the only survivors," Stiles explained. "Just Mom, Scott and me, and then when Mom died, just Scott and me."

"The village was completely destroyed," his dad replied. "And a lot of people were killed, but not everyone. We found a place that gave us sanctuary, that has the power to stand against the Argent and others like him. You'll see it for yourselves soon enough." He hesitated, looking suddenly uncertain. "You are going to come back with us, aren't you?"

Scott exchanged a look with Stiles, smiling when he could tell they were thinking the exact same thing. "Hell, yeah," Stiles said, answering for the both of them. "If you try to leave without us, we'll just follow you. Scott here is an excellent tracker."

"We can't leave yet," the other man -- Argent, but not affiliated with Argent apparently -- said. "Not without it."

"Chris, we burned all of our advantages just getting out of there tonight. He knows we have wolves, hell he probably knows we have you by now. Trying to get back into the vault now would be suicide." It sounded to Scott like Stiles' dad was repeating an argument he already had made.

"Doesn't matter, John. I don't even want to think about what my father would do with that much power at his literal fingertips. We have to get it back before he figures out how to activate it."

"Do you know what they're talking about?" Scott asked Stiles quietly as the two men continued to argue. 

Stiles shook his head. "Other than it's bad news and we don't want the Argent to have whatever it is, nope."

"It's a magic artifact," Derek told them, startling them both. "It contains a very old and very powerful -- and evil -- spirit. Some of the Argent's men killed its guardian and took it from him. We need to get it back before the Argent either figures out how to harness its power or accidentally sets the spirit free."

"What does it look like?" Stiles asked curiously.

Scott added, "We may be able to help. We both know the city like the back of our hands and Stiles is really good at getting into places he's not supposed to be and coming back out with things that he's not supposed to have."

"I'm an awesome thief, is what he's trying to say," Stiles clarified with a grin.

Derek looked less than impressed, but started giving them a description anyways -- a familiar description as it turned out. "It's silver," he said. "And carved. The man who was guardian of it lost a finger when he was a young man and when the burden was passed to him he had it carved into a replacement and wore it all the time."

Scott and Stiles looked at each other for a long moment. "So what you're saying," Scott began slowly, still looking at Stiles as he spoke, "is that you're looking for a Silver Finger of Creepiness that reeks of magic and badness."

Derek nodded. "Essentially, yes."

Scott watched Stiles' mouth curl up into a grin as he felt his own do the same. Then Stiles was scrambling across the room and pulling the pouch out of their hiding place. His sudden movement had distracted the others from their argument so that when Stiles straightened with the pouch in his hand, he had everybody's attention.

"I think we have the solution to your problem," Scott said as Stiles went over to the table and dumped the pouch's contents on the table.

"Dad, Derek, Chris. Allow us, in the nicest way possible, to give you the Finger," Stiles said, gesturing theatrically at the item in question where it lay, light glinting off its silver finish.

There was a long silence.

Finally Stiles' dad cleared his throat and asked, "How did you..."

Stiles shrugged. "Cut the wrong purse. Or, I guess, maybe I cut the _right_ purse."

"How long have you had it?" Chris asked, still staring at it, as was everyone but Stiles and Scott.

"About a week and a half," Stiles said. "We've been trying to figure out what it was and what it did, especially after we found out it was the Argent's men I accidentally stole it from."

Chris looked bemused. "You must have stole it from the courier who was delivering it. That's why my father hadn't done anything yet -- it never made it into his actual possession."

"So if that's what you were after, does this mean we can leave now?" Scott asked. 

"I think it's imperative that we do," Chris said, coming forward and putting the silver finger back in its pouch, careful to only touch it through the fabric.

"Better get your stuff together boys," Stiles' dad told them. "We're taking you home."

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this and creating this universe. I have so many more ideas for this that the only reason this isn't 40k instead of 20k is I ran out of time. Which means there is a good chance this may have a sequel. 
> 
> Thanks so much to Naomi (arenjager on tumblr) for the gorgeous piece of artwork that inspired this in the first place.
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://fwolfling.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi.


End file.
